The Storytellers
by shimmeryshine
Summary: Beckett pulls the night shift, but it's not a gun she's wielding, it's words. Castle and Beckett and a baby.


**A/N: **JUST A HEADS UP. There is a baby in here. This is PG rated BABYFIC. I am so, so sorry lmao.

* * *

It's late, dark, as Castle rolls over and presses his face into his pillow, inhaling sharply as he drifts into consciousness. The room around him is quiet but he can't shake the feeling that he was jolted awake by something. His ears strain to pick up a sound as he lets his hand slide out from underneath the blanket, drawing it across her side of the bed but finding nothing but warm, empty sheets.

_Ah_.

He should roll over, go back to sleep. It's not his turn tonight, but the sound of her soft voice comes floating through his office and he's never been able to resist the impulse to know her in these quiet moments. Know her when she doesn't know he's watching.

The cool wood of their bedroom floor creaks under his feet as he gets out of bed, quietly shuffling until he moves through his office, stopping just shy of walking through the doorway to the living room, hidden in darkness. She's there, of course, on the couch, a tiny wriggling blue bundle of blankets in her hands.

"Hey," he hears her say softly to the little bundle, raising the baby, _their_ baby, to her face. They touch noses for a second as he watches the smile bloom from her eyes to her mouth, watches her kiss their son's chubby little cheek. "Stop kickin' me."

The baby stops at the sound of her voice, and Castle can't help but swallow down the lump that's risen in his throat at how good she is at this. Their son _adores_ her, will stop everything and anything he's doing if he hears even the faintest sound of her voice nearby. Castle's used to being the favorite parent, but for her, he'll gladly play second fiddle.

"Are you hungry, Owen?" she asks him softly, lifting him up in the air high enough to press a little kiss to his stomach, pretending to nibble on him. Owen laughs a little bit, of course, making her smile, Castle echoing them both from his hiding place behind the book shelf. "No?" She lays him down on her knees, on his back, and then pulls her feet up onto the edge of the couch, cradling him so she can watch his face as she rocks him back and forth a little bit.

"Story?" The baby stills again at the sound of her voice, and then Beckett's nodding knowingly, like she suspected he wanted a story all along. "Alright well, I'm not as good as daddy at this, but I can try." She slides two fingers between his little fists, watching him grab on as she squints her eyes, thinking. "And don't tell daddy I said that." Castle swears he sees Owen's little head nod, like he's already keeping his mother's secrets.

He loves that the two of them have secrets already, that she wants to share them with this tiny little creature they've made.

"Did you know that daddy used to be my favorite storyteller too?"

Castle sucks in a sharp breath at her words, slaps a hand over his mouth in fear of being heard. And also _used to be_?

"That was before, before we met, before _you_." As she says the word _you_, Beckett lets one of her fingers trace the outside of Owen's face, over his little eyebrow, brushing at the whispy brown strands of hair on his head, around his clear blue eyes, thumb playing with his chin. "He wrote all kinds of stories, about spies and bad guys and good guys catching bad guys." Castle can see how bright her eyes are, even from across the room as she leans down to catch Owen's stare more directly. "I love the ones about catching bad guys."

She's smiling ruefully, the fierceness of her character seeping into every word she utters, bathing their son in justice. He knows she read his other novels, the ones before Nikki Heat, after her mom died, knows they were a bit of a lifeline for her, but he has never worked out exactly how _much_ of a lifeline they were.

"Now he writes books about _me_." The proud lilt in her voice cuts through his musings, and he can't help but lean closer to them against the door frame, ear angling for her every word.

"He thinks I don't know they're about me but they _are_." She's shaking her head exaggeratedly, expressions aimed at a six month old, completely and totally endearing. Oh if the boys at the precinct could only see her now. So ruthless in an interrogation room, so completely _goofy_ for her little boy. "Well, at least at first anyway, your dad has lost some of his ability to be _subtle_ in his old age."

Oh _hey_, mean.

"But shh, I like it." Castle bites back a smile as he watches her swoop down and press her lips to Owen's forehead, breathing him in a little bit as she kisses him.

"I bet he'll write a story about you one day." Beckett slides her palms up his sides, scoops him off her knees to put his head on her shoulder, her secret sleeping trick. "He always writes stories about the people he loves."

Castle just watches them then, watches her cup Owen's little brown head as she waltzes him slowly around the living room, humming lightly as her boy finally drifts back off to sleep. His heart feels so full he has to grab onto the bookshelf in front of him to keep from listing over, to keep from walking out to crush her in a hug that is sure to wake their newly slumbering child. She'd kill him.

He waits for her quietly as she tucks Owen back into his crib upstairs, almost startles her as she starts to head back to their room and catches sight of him there in the doorway, watching her.

"Hey," she says softly, voice still full of the way she talks to their baby, cutting right through him. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

He reaches out a hand to hook her elbow, tugging her into him, just breathing until he can't stand it anymore and presses his mouth to hers, slowly, thoroughly. The material of her sweatshirt brushes his chest as she relaxes against him, kissing him back until she can't breathe. Her forehead is warm as she presses it against his, leaning into him completely.

"Mmm, what was that for?" she asks, running the fingers of her left hand down his cheek, across his jaw, over his shoulder and down his chest.

He wants to push her into the bookcase and press devotions into her mouth, but he stops himself, fists the bottom of her sweatshirt instead.

"You should write books," he breathes between them, leveling her with a stare he hopes is earnest and full of the crushing adoration he feels for her. Even with all the words at his fingertips, there will never be enough for her, for this, for _them_. He wants to make up new ones.

She pulls back a little bit, regarding him quizzically and then narrows her eyes, suspicion crowding in. "Were you listening – "

He cuts her off with his mouth again, swallowing the little yelp she releases.

"It's rude to eavesdrop, Castle." Her palms connect with his chest as she shoves him off a little bit, quirking an eyebrow as she starts to walk backward into their bedroom.

"Well, it's a good thing I _did_," he says, following her, as always. "You left out a few important details in your narrative, Beckett."

"In my _narrative_?"

"Yes. You forgot to tell Owen how _into me_ you were when I first started following you, how big a _fan_ you really were. He needs to know these things about his parents."

She picks up one of the smaller pillows on their bed and throws it at him, looking at him like he's crazy. "In your dreams, Castle."

"Well, we'll see about that tomorrow night when it's _my_ turn to tell Owen a 3am bedtime story."

Her eyes roll hard as she flops herself back down into bed, burrowing under the covers as he slides in next to her. "I don't care what you tell him as long as I get to be sleeping," she exhales, sounding halfway there already. His fingers trip around her hip, sliding across her lower back to pull her forehead to forehead with him in the middle of their bed. He kisses her hair, bumping his knee against hers.

"Or, I could tell him about how his mom's a superhero, I bet he'd like that."

She huffs out a laugh. "_Castle._"

"He'll have to learn the truth one day, you can't keep your true identity a secret forever."

"Okay Castle."

He can tell she's drifting, entirely too agreeable to be anything but half asleep.

After a few minutes, her breathing evens out, deep and slow against him as he dips his head to whisper into her hair again. "I really do think you're a superhero," he says softly, pressing his cheek to her head.

She doesn't respond, but he feels her fingers curl around his shirt at his hip, and unconscious or not, he really does hope she heard him.

He falls asleep with visions of her in spandex and a cape in his head.

(As usual.)


End file.
